DA The Raven
by Blaney
Summary: This is my second attemped at my first fan fiction, so like before if it works please let me know what you think: good, bad, or indifferent.
1. The Story

Logan was setting in his chair, when Max slipped in the front door, He had his back towards Max so she walked up behind him, but he surprised her this time by saying "Hi Max, want to hear a good story

Logan was setting in his chair, when Max slipped in the front door, He had his back towards Max so she walked up behind him, but he surprised her this time by saying "Hi Max, want to hear a good story." 

THE RAVEN 

by Edgar Allan Poe 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door- 

Only this, and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 

Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow 

From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore- 

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore- 

Nameless here for evermore. 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 

Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, 

"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- 

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- 

This it is, and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, 

That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;- 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, 

fearing, 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!" 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"- 

Merely this, and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice: 

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore- 

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;- 

'Tis the wind and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and 

flutter, 

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; 

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed 

he; 

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door- 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door- 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. 

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no 

craven, 

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore- 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 

Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore; 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 

Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door- 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 

With such name as "Nevermore." 

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 

Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered- 

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before- 

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." 

Then the bird said, "Nevermore." 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, 

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore- 

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 

Of 'Never- nevermore'." 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; 

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore- 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking "Nevermore." 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; 

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, 

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, 

She shall press, ah, nevermore! 

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 

Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. 

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee 

Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore! 

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!- 

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted- 

On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore- 

Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil! 

By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore- 

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting- 

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! 

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! 

Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door! 

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 

And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 

Shall be lifted- nevermore! 

-- THE END -- 

"Wow that was depressing, who wrote that", Max asked when Logan closed the book. "His name was Edger Allan Poe, he lead a very sad life and was not really well liked, it was not until long after his death that is stories became famous." Logan said putting the book away, "It's getting late your more then welcome to say here tonight, in the guest bedroom of course." Logan added. "Well I am actually kind of tired so I think I well." Max said not really sure what to make of the feelings where that she had towards Logan. 


	2. Logan POV

After saying goodnight to Max as he went to his room, and got ready for bed his head was full of thoughts he always had when ever Max stayed at his house, not the sexual thought that most guys would have but ones of trying like mad to figure out what it

After saying goodnight to Max as he went to his room, and got ready for bed his head was full of thoughts he always had when ever Max stayed at his house, not the sexual thought that most guys would have but ones of trying like mad to figure out what it was that he felt towards Max, he was having almost as hard a time figuring out his feelings as he was trying to figure out Max. He was thinking all of this when he finally went to sleep. He awoke in his living room, at least it looked mostly like his room, He was himself, "what the heck, what's going on." Logan thought to himself, it was then that he heard himself say 

Once upon a Seattle night rainy, while I pondered, weak and weary, 

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten computer lore, 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my front door. 

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my front door- 

Only this, and nothing more."

/What the hell it, I don't talk like that, and what's with the old style clothing. Okay this most be a dream, but where is Max, I always dream of her./

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 

Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow 

From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Max- 

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Max- 

never to be named here for ever more. 

/What the hell Max died, what's this all about why does the words sound so familiarly. What the heck it sounds like The Raven, by Edger Allan Poe. That would explain the clothing and setting./

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of curtains 

Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, 

"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my front door- 

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my front door;- 

This it is, and nothing more."

/Let's see how does the rest of the story go. When do I see the raven, it should be soon. Oh well, it's only a dream , might as well enjoy myself wig out./

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 

"Sir," said I, "or Ma'am, truly your forgiveness I implore; 

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my front door, 

That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the front door;- 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Max!" 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Max!"- 

Meekly this, and nothing more. 

Back into the room turning, all my soul within me burning, 

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my patio door: 

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore- 

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;- 

'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the patio door, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of old; 

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; 

/Bout time I was wondering when the raven would make his appearance. Time for 'me' to start wiggin out./

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my front door- 

Perched upon a picture of journalist Nathan Hereto just above my front door- 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more

/Hey where did that picture come from, I didn't know it was that strong. That's a big raven./

Then this big black bird beguiling my sad face into smiling, 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. 

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, 

/Man talk about weird language./ 

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore- 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Seattle shore!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly raven to hear discourse so plainly, 

Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore; 

For I cannot help agreeing that no living human being 

Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his front door- 

Bird or beast upon the picture above my front door, 

With such name as "Nevermore." 

/Only in my dreams would a bird talk, and say only say the strangest things. Damn I wish Max was here./

But the raven, sitting alone on the picture, spoke only 

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 

Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he flutter- 

Till I scarcely more than uttered, "other friends have flown before- 

/Ain't that the truth, Only have a small hand full of friends. But at least I can count on them, though thick and thin./

On the morrow he will leave me, as many have flown before." 

Then the bird said, "Nevermore." 

Startled at the silence broken by a reply so aptly spoken, 

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, 

Caught from some unhappy owner whom unmerciful Disaster 

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore- 

Till the death of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 

Of 'Never- nevermore'." 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 

I wheeled my cushioned wheelchair seat in front of bird, and picture and door; 

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to thinking 

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore- 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking "Nevermore." 

/Well unlike my other dreams I am in my wheelchair, and I don't know I could use so many G words in one sentence./

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no words had their been expressing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my chest's core; 

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 

On the wheelchair's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated over, 

But whose velvet black lining with the lamplight gloating over, 

She shall push, Ah, nevermore!

Then me thought the air grew thicker, scented from an unseen censer 

Swung by Seraphim whose footsteps padded on the wooden floor. 

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee 

Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Max! 

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Max!" 

Quoth the Zach, "She'll never be yours."

/Well that's a new element I have never had a dream with the all mighty Zach. Now he's telling me in my dreams that I am not good enough for her./

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!- 

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here on shore, 

Alone yet undaunted, on this desert land enchanted- 

On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore- 

Is there- is there life in Manicore?- tell me- tell me, I implore!" 

Quoth the Eyes only, "She's to good for you."

/Now that's a new element, a TV with eyes only on it, and her older 'brother' both telling me I'm not good enough for her, who next, Valerie telling me I'm to old for her./

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil! 

By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore- 

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Max- 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Max." 

Quoth the Zach, "She'll never be yours."

/This is getting old very fast, Zach can shove his line up his brass. Trying very hard not to cuss, not very polite./

"With that word is our sign for parting, bird or fiend," I screamed, upstarting- 

"Get thee back into the dark and the Night's Seattle shore! 

Leave no black feather as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! 

Leave my sorrow unbroken!- leave now the picture above my door! 

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take your form from off my door!" 

Quoth the eyes only, "You well never be good enough for her, forever more." 

/Thank god this story is almost over I hope I don't know how much more of this I can stand, well sit. Sorry I know it's a bad joke./

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, forever sitting 

On the picture of journalist Nathan Hereto just above my front door; 

And his eyes have all the fire of a demon that is dreaming, 

And the lamp over him a light throws his shadow on the floor; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 

Shall be lifted- nevermore!

/Damn I have the strangest dreams. But it does not help me sort out my feelings, I pretty sure I love her, but if I do can she, well she ever love me back, hey black bird why don't you tell me that instead of nevermore./


	3. Max's POV

~ Meanwhile as Logan is having his dream we turn our at attention to the next room over to a beautiful dark angel asleep, 'in the guest room of course

~ Meanwhile as Logan is having his dream we turn our at attention to the next room over to a beautiful dark angel asleep, 'in the guest room of course.' ~

Max had gone in to her room and got ready for bed, still trying to sort out her feeling not really sure what to make of them. She climbed in to bed, having come no closer to figuring her feelings then she had been before. Max awoke in her living room. Wearing old style men's clothing, seeing that a fireplace had somehow appeared out of nowhere.

"Some one what to tell me what the hell is going on, how did I get home, and what are these clothing I'm wearing, and just here the hell did that fireplace." Max said in a less then pleasant tone. It was then that Max saw herself setting at a desk, also from out of nowhere. "Okay this must be a dream, but I normally dream of Logan and I am usual in his apartment."

Once upon a Seattle night dreary, while I wondered, weak and weary, 

Over many a strange and weird volumes of interesting lore, 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my apartment door. 

"Only some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my apartment door- 

Tis, this and nothing more." 

\Well now this is different I don't talk like this, and what with the words, they sound very familiarly. \

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the rainy Seattle night, 

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 

plainly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow 

From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Logan- 

For the rare and handsome gentlemen whom the angels name Logan- 

Never to be named here for ever more. 

\What the hell Logan dead now I know I do not like this dream, or nightmare. How, what, when. This is one of my more confusing, and less then pleasant dreams. \

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 

Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood saying, 

"'Tis some visitor wanting entrance at my apartment door- 

Some late visitor wishing entrance at my apartment door;- 

Tis only this, and nothing more." 

\When did I get purple curtains, I don't even have curtains, oh well it is just a dream. \

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating I was no longer, 

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I seek; 

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my apartment door, 

That I wasn't sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;- 

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that dark hall peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no immortals ever dared to dream before; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Logan!" 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Logan!"- 

Merely this, and spoke more. 

\That's it no more late night 'heart attack special' pizzas for me, this dream is making me wig out. \

Back into my room turning, all my soul within me burning, 

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window ledge: 

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore- 

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;- 

'Tis the wind and nothing more." 

At once I lifted open the window, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of old; 

Not the least embarrassed was he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; 

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my apartment door- 

Perched upon a picture of my brothers and sisters just above my apartment door- 

Perched, and sat, and did nothing more. 

\Okay now I get it, this is the story Logan just read to me The Raven by the depressed guy Poe. Tis only this and nothing more ha ha that's a good one. \

Then this black bird beguiling my tired fancy into smiling, 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. 

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no crow, 

\Thank god for that, I do not like crows and it's worse in my dream. \

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Seattle shore- 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's darken shore!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 

Though its answer little meaning- little help it bore; 

For I can't help agreeing that no living human being 

Ever yet was blessed with a speaking bird perched above her apartment door- 

Bird or beast upon the family picture above her apartment door, 

With such name as "Nevermore." 

\Well this is a strange dream, only in my dream would I have a talking bird, and one that said so little. \

But the raven, sitting vacant on the picture, spoke only 

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 

Nothing further then he muttered- not a feather then he fluttered- 

Till I scarcely more than uttered, "other friends have flown before- 

On the morrow he will leave me, as others have done before." 

Then the bird said, "Nevermore." 

\That's the truth, I don't have many friends, but the ones I do have I can count on though thick and thin. 

Hey I'm getting good at this rhyme stuff. \

Startled at the silence broken by reply so quickly spoken, 

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, 

Heard from some unfortunate master whom unmerciful Disaster 

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore- 

Till the destruction of his Hope that poor bird's burden to bore 

Of a bird named 'nevermore'." 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 

I wheeled my motorcycle's cushioned seat in front of bird, and picture and door; 

Then upon the black seat, I betook myself to think 

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore- 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking "Nevermore." 

\There's my baby, I didn't know I could say so many G words in one sentence. \

Now I sat engaged in guessing, but no sane thoughts expressing 

To the bird whose fiery eyes now burned into my head; 

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 

On the motorcycle cushion's leather lining that the lamp gloated over, 

But whose black leather lining with the lamp gloating over, 

He shall set on, Ah, nevermore! 

\This dream is very depressing, I don't have to wonder what would happen to me if something happened to Logan I would turn in to some strange word uttering, crazy woman, who talks to animals. That's a good feeling if ever I felt.\

Then me thought the air grew stale, perfumed from an unknown smell 

Swung by Seraphim whose footsteps echo across the wooden floor. 

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee 

Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Logan! 

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Logan!" 

Quoth the Valerie, "He's mine forever more." 

\What the, I have never dreamed of her before, well maybe once or twice but I am usually hurting her like she hurt Logan, now she's telling 'me' that I can't have Logan. This is a strange dream indeed.\

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!- 

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 

Deserted yet undaunted, on this bleak landscape enchanted- 

On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore- 

Is there- is there life in Foggle towers?- tell me- tell me, I implore!" 

Quoth the Max, "How can he love someone soulless forevermore." 

\Now this dream, is really starting to piss me of now I am telling myself that I can't have Logan, what's next Zack saying that's just phony sentiment.\

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil! 

By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore- 

Tell this soul with pain laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted man whom the angels name Logan- 

Clasp a rare and handsome gentleman whom the angels name Logan." 

Quoth the Valerie, "Your to young to be by his side." 

\Okay mental note to self, find that bitch and kick her little ass, all over the place. If I am in a good mood, if I'm not then it will suck to be her.\

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I hissed, upstarting- 

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Seattle shore! 

Leave no black feathers as a token of that lie of thy words spoken! 

Leave my sorrow unbroken!- quit the picture above my door! 

Take your beak from my heart, and take your form from off my apartment door!" 

Quoth the Max, "Doomed to be a loveless soldier forevermore." 

\Going to have a long talk with myself, soon very soon. I hope I don't really see myself that way.\

And the Raven, never stirring, still is sitting, forever sitting 

On the picture of my brothers and sisters above my apartment door; 

And his eyes burning with all the seething of a demon that is dreaming, 

And the light over him shone brightly throws his shadow on the floor; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 

Shall be lifted- nevermore! 

\Damn bout time I was wondering when this bitch would be over with. I wish this help to clear up my feelings for Logan, do I love him, does he love me. I think I love him, but I can't find the words to tell him or make him understand. That's what I want to know you damn bird, not all this nevermore. \

~ So now we leave this 'happy' couple to finish their sleep, with dreams that are better left to imagination. So until next story, sweet dreams kids. ~


End file.
